


thank you steve jobs

by pipsqueakparker (lafbaeyette)



Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: Explicit Sexual Content, First Time, M/M, Mutual Masturbation, Phone Sex, Technically?, Webcam/Video Chat Sex, wanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-14
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-14 14:28:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,777
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29420115
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lafbaeyette/pseuds/pipsqueakparker
Summary: “I’ve got an idea.”Those words frequently scare me when they come out of Snow’s mouth, but somehow even more so when we’re on separate sides of the city, connected only by the small screens of our phones.His curls are messy, standing out every which way, and he hasn’t got a shirt on. I can see a mole just beneath his collarbone, it’s enough to distract me so I miss his next sentence.“Baz?”I blink, then hum. “Yes?”“I—uhm,” he’s frowning, brows furrowing in concentration. “I think I wanna… try something. If-if it’s okay.”AKA, The One With The Phone Sex
Relationships: Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow
Comments: 5
Kudos: 117





	thank you steve jobs

**Author's Note:**

> happy valentine's day y'all
> 
> have some porn i wrote a little bit ago
> 
> this is my gift to the fandom
> 
> thank you caity, my love, for looking this over and assuring me it was good enough to see the light of day 💙

**Baz**

“I’ve got an idea.”

Those words frequently scare me when they come out of Snow’s mouth, but somehow even more so when we’re on separate sides of the city, connected only by the small screens of our phones. My screen is mostly dark, with a flash of light or color here and there as Snow walks through his flat. He’s living with Bunce and I’m still staying at Fiona’s—it’s just easier right now, to be this way.

Well, it’s easier _most_ of the time. We lived together for seven and a half years, and we spent all that time as enemies. Now we’re… _boyfriends_ , which is still odd to think about. _Simon Snow_ being my boyfriend. But the point is, it’s a whole new dynamic that I’m not sure either of us are ready to explore while _living_ together.

It’s nice to have our own spaces to retreat to, especially considering the unpredictability of Snow’s moods lately. (Not that I hold any of that against him. I understand. It’s just easier to leave sometimes, let him work it out.)

The shuffling on Snow’s end stops and then he’s on screen again. His curls are messy, standing out every which way, and he hasn’t got a shirt on. I can see a mole just beneath his collarbone, it’s enough to distract me so I miss his next sentence.

“Baz?”

I blink, then hum. “Yes?”

“I—uhm,” he’s frowning, brows furrowing in concentration. “I think I wanna… try something. If-if it’s okay.”

“What is it, Simon?” I use his first name to show him it’s okay, that he doesn’t need to be nervous. That I see him, and I care for him.

“Uh.” His arm shifts off screen, I’m a little surprised it’s not been used to pull at his own hair. He pulls at his hair a lot. “I… I miss you. Like, a lot.”

“I miss you, too,” I start, but Simon cuts me off.

“No, like—” he sighs. “I _miss_ you. Like… _physically_.”

I’m almost afraid to guess where this is going. Simon doesn’t seem to notice my hesitation, he continues.

“I— I miss being with you. Like, _with_ you with you.” He bites at his lower lip. “I— I miss kissing you, a-and touching…”

It’s only been about a week since we last saw each other, and considering our interactions in person, I certainly didn’t expect this turn of events. We do kiss, we snog quite a bit, but Simon’s still very hesitant with it. So am I.

His hands have only wandered past my belt once, and it was to squeeze my arse before pulling away entirely. Overwhelmed. Both of us.

“I miss you, too,” I say, hoping it encourages him to continue. His face is flushed a bright pink, I’m nowhere near him but I can imagine the sound of blood rushing and pooling beneath his cheeks.

“ _Ithin’I’dliket’getoffwithyou_.” His words are rushed and jumbled and I’m almost certain I’ve made it all up.

“What was that?” I’m afraid to ask for clarification, but I need to.

He huffs. Takes a breath, then speaks again, slower and also quieter. “Said… Think I’d like t’get off with you.”

“That’s what I thought you said,” I whisper. It’s all I can do because my brain has completely short circuited.

“It’s scary… in person... innit?” He clears his throat. “I— I don’t mean _you’re_ scary, just…”

“I know.” I do know. It _is_ scary, to be that close and open and _intimate_ with someone. Even if it’s Simon Snow, the man I’ve loved for a good part of my life now.

“But I thought… _maybe_ …” He shifts again and I can tell he’s holding his phone with one hand, the other still absent. His shoulder moves and he takes in a sharp breath. “Maybe we could… try something… like this?”

“Like… this?”

“Erm… yeah, yeah, like this. You know. O-on the phone?”

“Are you— I’m sorry.” I’m shaking my head, but trying to form my words quickly because I don’t want Simon to think I _don’t_ want this. I do, but… _Crowley_. This isn’t what I expected when I called Simon tonight. “You want to… what? Wank together?”

“Y-yeah… I guess.” He swallows thickly and I can see his Adam's apple bob. His fucking showy swallow is the last thing I needed to see tonight. “Only if you’d want to. If you don’t, I—”

“I do.” I didn’t know I did, or that I was going to _say_ I did. “How… how should we?”

There’s a pause as Simon purses his lips, considering. “Do yo— Erm, do you want to see...?”

_See?_

I’ve never been more thankful for Steve Jobs and his fucking FaceTime feature.

I can’t bring myself to _say_ it, but I nod and Simon knows. His end gets a little blurry again as he moves his phone, adjusting it until it’s leant back on something and I can see most of Simon’s body in the frame. He’s shirtless, and his trousers and pants are pushed down to the middle of his thighs.

And he’s got his cock in his left hand, the one that wasn’t holding the phone a moment ago.

_He’s not wasting any time_ , is my first thought. And then, _Holy fuck, that’s Simon Snow’s cock!_

I feel my own interest stirring as Simon’s hand moves on my screen.

He’s already half-hard.

I think my mouth is watering.

I palm myself through my trousers and let out a soft sound. It wasn’t part of the plan, but I see Simon’s eyes snap back to his phone when I do it.

“C-Can I see you?” He asks. I nod again, looking around quickly for something to prop my own mobile on. I’ve got this flexible device holder that clips onto my headboard. Previously I’d really only used it when Simon was over; I’ve not got a telly in my room so we’d slip my mobile or tablet into it and put on a film. It was honestly perfect for that, we could put it above us and I could curl into his arms as he watched.

I never considered using it for _this_ , but I suppose it could be useful here.

I scoot and press my back against my headboard, slipping my mobile into the grip and adjusting it until I can see myself in my camera and still see Simon full on display for me. Once that’s fixed, I undo my own trousers.

“Are you using that weird arm thing?” Simon asks, and I look at him with a raised brow. I don’t think he can see that, not with the angle, so I just sigh and nod instead.

I swear Simon says something along the lines of _‘that’s well hot’_ , but it’s swallowed by his own gasp when I shove my pants and trousers over my hips until my cock is free.

“ _Fuck_ ,” he breathes, and I see his hand move along his own length again. I stroke myself a few times, eyes trained on my screen and the shift of Simon’s muscles along his stomach. He’s got rather large hands, too. They’re broad and square and rough from years of sword fighting, I can see the veins in his hand and twisting up his forearm.

His fucking _forearm_. I could write sonnets about his forearms. (To be fair, I could write sonnets about Simon’s entire body.) He’s gotten softer around the middle since our time at Watford, and he’s never been quite _toned_ , but his forearms are strong and sturdy. Watching the way everything moves when he flicks his wrist, or twists around his tip — Crowley, it’s almost as enticing as watching his cock.

Speaking of his cock, though, it’s also somehow fucking gorgeous. Cocks are not known for being gorgeous, but Simon should be winning some kind of award, I swear. He’s thick, and flushed. The flush along his cheeks and neck and chest match the pretty pinkish-red of his tip.

The image of Simon masturbating is a fucking _masterpiece_.

“What are you thinking about?” He’s still stroking himself rather lazily, and when I let my eyes follow the length of his body up to his own they’re kind of foggy. I can’t really see his face that well on my little screen, but I can hear how dazed he sounds.

“You,” I gasp, squeezing around my base. I’m afraid this is going to be over too soon. I feel like I could get off just from watching Simon, without touching myself.

I still give into the urge to touch myself, trying to match the slow and languid rhythm Simon’s got going for himself.

“What about?” He presses, and he presses his thumb over his tip. I do the same.

“ _Fu-uck_ ,” it comes out as more of a whine than I mean. I shake my head. “What do you _think_?”

“Want you to tell me,” he says. I think I’m going to explode, probably. I’ve masturbated plenty in my lifetime, but never while watching my boyfriend— _Simon Snow_ —do the same on my mobile. Never while he was _watching_ me.

Never while he was telling me to tell him what I’m _thinking_. I don’t think this has even been part of my fantasies.

“You’re—gorgeous,” I blurt out, shifting my hips and thrusting into my own hand just a bit. “You’re so fucking _sexy_ , Simon—laid out like this, for me. Letting me watch you pleasure yourself.”

I don’t know where these words are coming from, but they seem to be doing something for Simon. He’s got his free hand over his mouth, muffling a moan.

“Are you alone?” I ask. I can’t imagine he’d try this with Bunce in the other room, but just to check. He nods, gasps out a yes, still from behind his hand. “No need to be quiet then, is there?”

“I—” He breathes out with absolutely no excuse.

“Put your hand down.” I say, and he does. Immediately. “No, touch yourself with it.”

“Where?”

“Y-your, uhm.” I have to pause, enough to actually think. _Where would I like to be touched? Where would I like to touch_ him _?_

“Your chest.”

I watch his hand slide up his stomach and chest, fingertips circling around a nipple experimentally. He presses over it, squeezes it and lets out another low sound.

“Louder,” I demand, unsure where the demanding tone _came_ from. “I want to _hear_ you.”

He groans again. Louder.

I can’t help but smile.

Simon keeps going, keeps touching himself and arching his back and thrusting into his own fist. Even in the low quality of the video call I can see the sheen of sweat over his forehead, his temples. The deep flush that spreads over his chest, up his neck and ears and flooding his cheeks.

His stomach ripples as he works his hand over himself. I love watching the way his body moves; the bounce in that bit of fat around his hips and waist is delicious. I want to pet him there, where he’s softest; squeeze his waist and bite just below his navel, suck a bruise right on his belly then watch him twist and squirm and let it disappear into a fold. I want to press my face into him and neglect his cock in favor of nuzzling and nibbling and worshipping his belly.

“Ba- _az_.” Simon’s voice breaks in the middle of his breathy whine and I watch his hips jerk, his hand moving a little less steady now. “Oh fuck, oh shit, fuck, _fuck_ , ’m close — Baz.” His eyes are open again, staring at me on his screen, half-lidded, pupils blown. He takes in a shaky breath, then whispers, “S-say something?”

My head is reeling, heart pounding so hard I feel it in my hand, _in my cock_ ; I’m barely in a position to be forming sentences. I can barely process anything past the sounds spilling over me from Simon’s end of the line.

All this to say, I can’t be faulted when the only thing to come out of my mouth upon Simon’s request is, “ _Something._ ”

Simon’s biting his lip and growling as he spills over his hand. It streaks over his stomach, too, and I’m once again lost to the fantasies of all the things I want to do to him. I think it’s the idea of licking Simon’s stomach clean of his own spunk that pushes me over, then I’m thrusting erratically into my fist and making a right mess of my own.

When I open my eyes, Simon’s still on the screen watching me. He’s not moved, right hand still holding his deflated prick, lips hanging open with his wet tongue poking out over his teeth.

It’s such a sight I almost think I could get hard again. I don’t. I finally tear my eyes away to examine my own debauched state.

I lift my hand and frown, and then Simon’s laughing hysterically for reasons beyond my knowledge.

“What’re you on about?” I ask, glancing back up at him. He’s holding his clean hand over his face, eyes squeezed shut as he laughs into his palm.

“ _You_ —” He gasps out between laughs. “You look so _offended_ at your jizz.”

I snort, and I don’t think it’s actually funny, but I’m light and sated from orgasm and Simon’s laughter is infectious. “Well, it’s made quite the mess.”

That sends Simon into another fit of giggles, and then I’m lost to them, too. I don’t know how long we lay there, naked and come-covered and laughing with each other over the phone, but my sides hurt when we finally stop. I reach for my wand when I’m able to suck in a proper breath, then mumble a cleaning spell over myself.

“Too bad your magic won’t work to help me here,” he laments.

He rolls to the side, out of frame, giving me a glorious view of his arse, and returns with a hand towel that he wipes over his hand and stomach.

It’s quiet for a long moment as Simon finishes cleaning himself off, then he’s propping himself up on one arm and rolling more toward the camera. Still completely starkers. Still showing me his entire body.

“Uhm. So.” He chews at his bottom lip.

“So?” I prompt.

“I— I mean, how… uhm, was that… okay?” His cheeks are flushing a pretty pink again and I have to stop myself from scoffing.

“That was… far more than okay,” I tell him.

“Oh.” For some reason he looks genuinely surprised. “Brilliant. That’s — well, that’s good, innit? I mean— Well, fuck, yeah. I— I liked.. _That_. Uh, getting off. With you.”

“Happy to hear that, Snow.” He’s eight new levels of adorable when he’s flustered and I wish I were there with him. I want nothing more right now than to kiss him. And before I can stop myself, my traitorous mouth is telling him so. It makes him blush harder.

“Me, too, actually…” He scratches the back of his neck. “I— I guess, maybe next time we’ll have to do this in person, then.”

“You don’t think it’ll be too scary?” I ask, remembering his words from earlier. He chews at his lip again before answering.

“I think it’ll be fucking terrifying,” he says. He’s still smiling. “But, now I know what you look like when you come… and maybe getting to see that again is worth facing our fears?”

“Would you like to come over tomorrow?” I blurt out, and before either of us can succumb to nerves I barrel forward, “Fiona’s out of town for the next few days. I’d like to see you, and hold you, and kiss you. It doesn’t have to go any further than that, there’s no pressure to… to do _this_ again. I… just miss you.”

I’m nervous that I’ve fucked this whole thing up when Simon hesitates. Maybe it’s too soon after orgasm to suggest seeing each other in person, though I _would_ really like the opportunity to come together in person.

“I’d like that,” Simon says. I stop holding my breath, and smile without thinking. Simon’s grinning, too, and then yawning. That’s our sign that it’s gotten fairly late, and I do have to admit that I’m knackered.

We say our goodnights, our _I love you_ s, then end the call. Once my phone’s off I realize I _am_ bone-tired, so I decide to hold off a shower until the morning. Instead I turn on my side, settle into my blankets and pillows, and fall asleep thinking about all of the things I want to do to Simon when he comes to mine tomorrow.

**Author's Note:**

> find me on tumblr: @pipsqueakparker


End file.
